


Unbridled Affection

by dalmatienne



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval Times Dinner and Tournament, First Time, Horse Slander, M/M, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 18:24:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14699742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dalmatienne/pseuds/dalmatienne
Summary: “Horses are simultaneously afraid of everything and fear nothing,” Tyson hissed to Nate, “they are God’s true mistake.”Tyson was absolutely, one hundred percent not afraid of horses.He was, however, severely allergic to horses.“Either way dude, it just doesn’t seem like working for Medieval Times is the best thing for you and your needs,” Nate said.





	Unbridled Affection

**Author's Note:**

> If you recognize your name in this story, please, for the love of all things holy and good, click away now. This is entirely a work of fiction.
> 
> A massive shout out to my two betas (more like bae-tas, amirite?), [Elle_belle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elle_belle) and [Mythisea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythisea), without whom this story would have been even more of a mess. They listened as I shouted my way from a projected 5k story all the way to an 18.5k Monstrosity. Honestly, I don't deserve them.
> 
> Some housekeeping:
> 
> 1\. If there are two things in this world that I know very little about, it's the Colorado Avalanche and [Medieval Times Dinner and Tournament](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medieval_Times). One of these days I'll write about what I actually know, and then you'll see. Then you'll all see.
> 
> 2\. There are no Medieval Times Dinner and Tournament locations in Colorado, so for the purposes of this story, I have ruthlessly torn down Centennial Gardens and constructed a Medieval Times upon its smoldering ashes. Additionally, there are no Dairy Queens in Lower Downtown Denver, so I switched out the Chipotle on Blake and 16th for a DQ. Other than that, I tried to stay as true to LoDo/Central Business District as possible.

 

 

 

“Good evening m’lords and m’ladies, and welcome to Medieval Times!  My name is Tyson and I will be your humble serf tonight.” 

After six months of repeating the same speech three times a day two to five times a week, Tyson had this part _down_.  Engage the guests, be friendly and helpful, the whole shebang.  He was a Medieval fuckin’ pro.

Tyson gave the birthday party in his rows his carefully practiced unassuming smile as he recited his speech, listing off the rules of the arena and explaining which knights the guests were supposed to cheer for.  A couple of the guests, freshly twenty-one and already tipsy, weren’t paying attention as he explained how they were to position their cups to request different drinks, so Tyson resigned himself to asking each person individually.  His rows weren’t too full, since it was the Saturday early afternoon show, so he didn’t mind.

“And finally, my favorite and your least favorite part, tipping,” Tyson said cheerfully, raising his voice to be heard over the shouting of other serfs and wenches giving their own speeches.  “Like any other server, tips are my livelihood. So if my service pleases you, m’lords and ladies, I ask that you show your gratitude with gratuities!” At his guests’ blank looks, Tyson fought hard to keep his cheerful smile in place.  “I’ll be sure to leave an envelope for you at the end of the meal for your generous tips.”

With a final bow, Tyson edged his way down the row towards the aisle and up the stairs towards the kitchen.

Five years ago, Tyson never would have guessed that at age twenty-five he would be a part-time serf at the brand new Medieval Times Tournament and Dinner in LoDo Denver, Colorado, picking up extra hours to pay off the student debt from that shiny degree he got from the University of Colorado Denver.  Then again, five years ago, Tyson was being helped off the ice in Kelowna for the last time with a career-ending concussion, so he hadn’t been in any position to make sweeping predictions about his future.

But that was in the past, and Tyson was happy with where he was at now.

He had a solid enough internship with the Denver Sports Commission, and he had a second job to cover the bills that the internship stipend couldn’t.  The apartment he shared with his best friend for best friend reasons but also for financial reasons was big enough that Tyson got his very own room, and the public transportation system in Denver was just robust enough to let him live his life without worrying about a car.

All told, being a server at Medieval Times was a pretty sweet gig.  The guests were usually good tippers, and he wasn’t asked to do much more than a regular food service employee.  He usually got the hours he requested, and he never had to worry about it conflicting with his weekday job since the shows were only at 7:30 in the evening on weekdays, plus weekends.  There was only one thing that Tyson could really do without, thanks:

All the goddamn horses.

 

***

 

Just to be clear, Tyson was not _afraid_ of horses.  Sure they were eldritch horrors, whose teeth took up more space in their skull than their brain, with dead soulless eyes and a hunger for human flesh that cannot be satisfied.  Never mind the fact that they basically ran around on their fingertips and lied about counting when they _can’t_ and remorselessly murdered anything and anyone that had the misfortune of getting too close to their warforged hooves.

“Horses are simultaneously afraid of everything and fear nothing,” Tyson hissed to Nate, “they are God’s true mistake.”

Tyson was absolutely, one hundred percent not afraid of horses.

He was, however, severely allergic to horses.

“Either way dude, it just doesn’t seem like working for Medieval Times is the best thing for you and your needs,” Nate said.  He continued counting up his tips from the last show of the day, not even looking up at his friend.

Tyson took a deep breath to tell off his _best friend_ for not caring about the truth of the hellion beasts that were housed mere yards away from them, and immediately began wheezing and coughing.  He definitely should have taken another Claritin on his last break.

Nate finally looked up in concern and ineffectively slapped at Tyson’s back.  “Seriously, you spend at least half your paycheck on allergy meds, why haven’t you left this place for a part time at the Dairy Queen on Blake and 16th or whatever?”

With a final gasp, Tyson finally regained his breath.  “Because of the benefits, Nate-Dogg,” he said, waving a handful of small- to medium-bills under Nate’s nose.

Saturdays were usually their best day of the week, and this day did not disappoint. Tyson and Nate had been assigned to the Burgundy and Blue section, as per usual, and their sections had included two bridal parties, four birthdays, a family reunion, two company team building events, and a shockingly bad first date that ended when the girl left halfway through the entree and didn’t come back.

Nate gave Tyson an unimpressed look, raising one blond eyebrow. “And do those benefits include a certain Swedish knight?” he asked, in what he probably thought was a sly tone.

“What? No,” Tyson spluttered, feeling his face flush red to the tips of his hair.

“You sure it has nothing to do with the Knight of the Burgundy and Blue, known for his valor in battle and his dedication in the bedroom? The knight who is blond of hair and blue of eye and has never seen defeat in war or in love?” An evil grin was spreading across his stupid attractive face and Tyson wanted to _die_.

“Oh my god shut up,” Tyson grumbled, covering his face with with the itchy wool sleeves of his costume shirt. Nate continued on, unrepentant.

“I don’t know man, it sure feels like by ‘benefits’ you must be talking about that dream you told me about the other day—”

“First of all,” Tyson interrupted loudly, pointing a finger in his best friend’s dumb smirking face, “how dare you. I told you that in confidence, after you had lured me into what has now been revealed to me as a _false sense of security_ with beer and video games. Second of all, fuck you, get out of my life, take the baby and go.”

“Fine,” Nate laughed, “I will go. Good luck finding a new roomie, since you won’t be able to pay rent without my supplemental income.”

“I’ll just pick up a few shifts at Dairy Queen, and then I’ll be able to pay the rent by myself, and I’ll have access to all the ice cream I could ever want, which I will enjoy in my apartment, free of nosy, _incorrect_ roommates.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

Tyson yelped and spun around, very nearly unbalancing his chair and falling to the ground.  And wouldn’t that have been just _dandy_ : embarrassing himself further in front of the golden visage of the Knight of the Burgundy and Blue, one Gabriel _fucking_ Landeskog.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” Nate stage whispered to Tyson before waving at Gabe.

Gabe visibly brightened, smiling at Tyson and showing off his beautiful, straight, white teeth.  Tyson may have swooned. “You guys were talking about me?” he asked, leaning his hip against the counter in front of Tyson, and crossing his arms in such a way that showed off his biceps, and honestly this was very unfair to poor Tyson.  “Only good things, I hope,” Gabe added, winking at Tyson.

“As always, Landesnerd, we are still trying to find out if you had to get your helmet custom smithed to fit your huge head,” Tyson said, shooting Gabe a slightly shaky shit-eating grin.  Next to him, he could barely hear Nate whisper, “Oh my god,” to himself.

Gabe rolled his eyes and turned to give Nate a long suffering look. Tyson—totally involuntarily—took the opportunity to check him out.

Unlike Tyson, Gabe had changed out of his costume as soon as the show was done, but still remained in his Under Armour.  All that synthetic hybrid cotton stretched over toned muscles was Doing Things to Tyson. Prior to Gabe, Tyson had honestly never felt an intense, burning desire to bite at anyone’s biceps and delts, like, sexually, but now… Tyson could feel his breathing pick up and tried to cough discretely to hide any wheezing.  This had the unintended consequence of bringing Gabe’s attention back to him, and the discrete coughing turned into something a little messier and a lot more humiliating.

The amused annoyance in Gabe’s eyes quickly turned to concern.  “You okay, dude?” he asked, placing a hand on Tyson’s shoulder.

Tyson’s eyes began to water, but he tried to wave him off.

“He’s fine,” said Nate, who had turned back to the tips and was not even paying attention.

Tyson perhaps should not have Nate listed as his emergency contact, if _this_ was how he would act in times of crisis.

“Okay,” said Gabe, unconvinced but clearly willing to move on.  “Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out later?”

“Uh,” said Tyson, staring up with still-watering eyes.

Gabe’s blue eyes suddenly darted over to look at Nate.  “You’re invited too, of course,” he added.

“Of _course_ ,” Nate said.  His tone implied that he was teasing, and Tyson was only sixty percent sure he was the target of this mockery.  He would have looked over to double check, but he was suddenly caught up in Gabe’s stare as their eyes met again.  Gabe’s hand was still resting on his shoulder, fingers brushing skin at the edge of his costume shirt collar, and was it just Tyson, or was Gabe leaning in closer?  Tyson’s eyes darted down to Gabe’s lips, and then his throat—

“So how about it?” Gabe asked.

—and Tyson realized that Gabe’s Under Armour was fucking _covered_ in horse hair.

Tyson jerked away from Gabe, dislodging his hand.  He suddenly realized that the tightness in his throat was a hell of a lot worse than it was earlier, and his eyes were itching like crazy.  When was the last time he took that Claritin? Fuck.

Without thinking of the elegance of this particular exit strategy, Tyson jumped from his seat and darted around Nate’s chair, taking the steps two at a time to get to the top of the stairs and power-walking his way to staff room.  Distantly he could hear Gabe calling after him, but Tyson was a little too busy trying to wheeze his way through his allergy attack. He darted around the other wenches and serfs who were busy closing up, a little too aware of the fact that his face was bright red.

Tyson rasped a sigh of relief as he barreled into the staff room, nearly flinging himself into his locker.  The combination lock seemed to understand the urgency of the situation, and allowed itself to unlock at Tyson’s first attempt with shaky fingers.  Tyson rummaged through his bag to find his inhaler. At last he found it, and after priming it and wheezing out as much breath as possible, Tyson finally placed the mouthpiece between his lips and breathed in a puff of medicine.  He lowered the inhaler and carefully counted to ten before shakily exhaling. Almost immediately, Tyson could feel his throat and lungs opening up, and he took several deep breaths.

Crisis averted, Tyson slowly sank to the floor, head in his hands as he prepared to wallow in misery and embarrassment.  As if having a crush on Gabe, number one most perfect human in Denver, wasn’t bad enough, now Gabe probably thought Tyson was an idiot who couldn’t even breathe correctly.

After a solid, healthy two minutes of waiting for the earth to swallow him whole and end his suffering, Tyson realized that his phone was vibrating with messages in his pocket.  He fished it out and scrolled through the texts he had received.

 

 **Nate [dog emoji] [dog emoji]** : _omg u owe me big time_

 **Nate [dog emoji] [dog emoji]** : _gabe was about to follow u but i convinced him u just suddenly had to call ur mom.  dont think he bought it but at least he didnt follow u [shrug emoji]_

 **Nate [dog emoji] [dog emoji]** : _but srsly tho dude u good?_

 **Nate [dog emoji] [dog emoji]** : _did u die????_

 **Nate [dog emoji] [dog emoji]** : _that sucks_

 

Tyson laughed a little as he typed out, _im good now thx can we uber home tho_ , fingers still shaky against the touchscreen of his phone.

Alright.

So maybe making Nate his emergency contact was a solid call.  At the very least, he ran good interference.

 

***

 

Despite Tyson’s pathetic display of how little control he had over his own immune system, Gabe was still willing to be his friend.

At least, according to Nate.

Tyson would like to think his source was reliable.

“Gabe invited us over for a movie at his place after we close up today,” Nate told him between serving chicken to their sections during the Thursday night show. “He wanted to make sure you were coming.”

Nate winked. Tyson snorted dismissively.

“To mock me relentlessly for Saturday, I’m sure.”

“Are you serious, dude?  If he was that hellbent on mocking you for Saturday, he would have done it any of the four times he’s seen you since then. Thanks,” he said to the kitchen staffer who took the empty chicken platter from him.

Tyson handed his own empty platter over as well. “I’m not saying you’re right,” he said as they exited the kitchen. “But it may be worth going to movie night to investigate this theory of yours.”

They leaned against the back wall of the arena, looking down at the tournament. Nate pulled out his phone and shot off a quick text message before shoving it back into his pocket.

“You’re a mess, man. We’ll meet him at his apartment after the show.”

“Sounds good,” Tyson said, and tried to ignore the bubbly feeling in his stomach.  He wasn’t nervous or excited about hanging out with Gabe or anything, just really fucking hungry.  Hunger was a completely normal emotion and had nothing to do with Gabriel Landeskog.

After recording their tips and clocking out, Nate and Tyson opted to walk to Gabe’s apartment, since it was only a mile away and the weather was pleasant.  While Nate and Tyson’s apartment in North Capitol Hill wasn’t more than two miles away from Medieval Times, their commute on the bus wasn’t nearly as picturesque as the walk along Cherry Creek Trail to Gabe’s apartment in the Central Business District.

Walking along the trail in the fading twilight, listening to the soft sounds of the creek and the slightly louder bustle of LoDo in the summer with his best friend by his side, was one of Tyson’s favorite things about Denver.  Without having to talk about it, Tyson knew it was one of Nate’s favorite things too.

They shot the shit while they walked the trail at a leisurely pace, exchanging pieces of gossip they’d heard in the kitchens. As they turned off the trail and onto Market Street, Nate let the conversation taper off before coughing awkwardly.

“So,” he began as they waited for the pedestrian signal. “We should come up with a plan.”

“A plan for what?” Tyson asked, peering into the darkened windows of the Denver Metro Chamber of Commerce.

“A plan for if you and Gabe need me to clear out.”

“Why would we need you to clear out?  He invited you too!” Tyson reached out to playfully jab Nate in the side to emphasize his point.  

Nate dodged the prod and leveled a Look at Tyson.  This Look spoke volumes in a language Tyson occasionally chose not to be fluent in.  “Don’t be dumb, dude. He basically asked you to Netflix and Chill through me.”

Tyson tripped over the curb. Nate kept walking across the street and down 15th Street.

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Tyson said in a voice at least two octaves too high. He scrambled to keep up with Nate.

“I’m thinking that if you need me to leave asap, you mention that someone needs to feed the cat. I’ll volunteer, and tell you to stay and finish the movie.”

Mouth agape, Tyson stared at Nate for ten seconds before saying, “...we don’t have a cat though?”

“You make my life so much more difficult than it needs to be, bro,” Nate sighed.

“Rude,” Tyson said faintly.

They walked the next block and a half in silence and stopped at the corner of Arapahoe and 15th, right in front of the weird gold miner statue outside Gabe’s building. As he stared up at the copper figure of the grizzled old prospector, Tyson considered what Nate was suggesting. Just as he opened his mouth to ask Nate if he was serious or just talking out his ass, a bicycle bell rang twice behind them.

“Glad to see you guys didn’t get lost on the way here,” Gabe said, hopping off his bike next to Tyson.  He had changed into khaki shorts and a light blue polo shirt that set off his eyes. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, in blatant defiance of safety and common sense, and his golden hair was wind-ruffled and glorious.  Tyson felt distinctly self conscious about how his hair product tended to lose efficiency after a full day of interning and a shift at Medieval Times.

“Couldn’t find a helmet to fit your head?” Tyson asked, waiting for Gabe to key them into his building.

“Do you really only have the one joke?” Gabe returned.  “Maybe you should lay off the sweets, they seem to be slowing down your brain.”

“I’m so glad we’re all friends,” Nate sighed, holding the front door open for Gabe to roll his bike in.  Tyson slipped through before Nate and Gabe could accidentally lock him out.

All three of them ignored the pointed coughs and poisonous looks the concierge was shooting at the bike being wheeled through the lobby as Gabe led them to the elevator bank.  They piled into the nearest open elevator, Tyson squished into the far corner behind Gabe, his bike, and Nate chilling with considerably more room by the button panel. As Gabe fiddled with his bike’s front wheel, Nate wiggled his eyebrows at Tyson.

“Which floor again, Gabe?” Nate asked.

 _Anything under ten_ , prayed Tyson, all too aware of how Gabe’s firm khaki-clad behind was pressed against his hip.

“Thirty seventh, Nate, c’mon, you’ve been over before.”

 _Fuck_.

The suffering Tyson endured for those thirty seven floors was worthy of martyrdom, honestly.  Despite the sheer swankiness of the building, the elevators left something to be desired. The car they were in was quite possibly the slowest elevator on the planet and shuddered at least every five floors, causing Gabe to lean back into Tyson for balance.  At one point Gabe leaned back into him so hard that Tyson brought his hands up to steady him and—

—and okay, yeah, Tyson could confirm that horseback riding was in fact excellent for strengthening one’s core.

“Thanks, bud!” Gabe said, smiling brightly over his shoulder at Tyson as he regained his balance.  Tyson blinked the stars out of his eyes slowly.

“Yeah, no problem.”  He looked over to Nate for guidance, but his asshole roommate was smirking and staring down at Tyson’s hands which were, fuck, still on Gabe’s waist.  Tyson jerked them away, slamming his fingers into the wood paneling of the car. He coughed awkwardly in an attempt to hide the sound. A tickle had built up in his throat.

At long last, Tyson was freed from his torment as the elevator reached the thirty seventh floor.  Gabe led them down the hall before eventually stopping at one of the apartment doors. After jiggling a key in the lock, he pushed the door open and gestured for Nate and Tyson to enter.

Tyson had been in Gabe’s apartment once before, after a night spent with Nate, Gabe, and a few other people from Medieval Times drinking their way down 16th Street.  Truth be told, Tyson was plastered after Gabe kept feeding him chocolate martinis as a delicious, delicious prank, so he didn’t remember much of what the apartment looked like.  Tyson took the opportunity to look around as Gabe hung up his bike on the hooks above the couch on the left hand wall.

Gabe’s apartment was a junior one bedroom, a respectable choice for a college graduate who made his living in part by jousting.  The kitchen was small but clean, with a few pans drying on a rack next to the sink. An upside down CU Denver snapback served as a fruit bowl, holding a few apples, an orange, and a spotty banana.  In the living room area, there were only a few things on the walls: Gabe’s bike, as well as a large Swedish flag and a Burgundy and Blue pennant from Medieval Times. There was a tall bookcase in the corner, and Tyson wandered over to check out his book selection.  Several of the titles were clearly old textbooks from college, with a lot of ecology and biology works. In between groups of books were framed photographs. Tyson could identify a family photo based on the shared blond hair and big smiles, as well as what must have been a younger Gabe decked out in hockey gear.  Near the top of the bookcase, in a prominent place of honor, was a selfie Gabe had taken with his horse from work, Zoey.

It was disgustingly cute.

“If you’re done being nosy, you can make yourself comfortable on the couch,” Gabe said from, like, _right behind_ Tyson.  Tyson absolutely did not jump.

“I will, thank you,” Tyson sniffed, and turned to the couch.  Nate had already settled in the corner of the couch and was looking at Tyson with a self-satisfied smirk.  Tyson paused. He had two options here, and either one would land him in prime potential Gabe cuddle zone. Or he could totally alienate himself and just sit on the dude’s floor…

No, Tyson was above that.  He could be strong.

He sat himself down in the other corner of the couch, ignoring what was sure to be another Look from Nate.  Gabe disappeared into the kitchen before coming back with bottles of water. As he set them down on the coffee table, Gabe grabbed the TV remote and dropped gracefully into the open middle seat of the couch.  His thigh nudged against Tyson’s and their arms brushed. Tyson stared straight ahead as the TV came to life.

“I don’t have cable, but we can watch anything off Netflix or Amazon,” Gabe said, flicking through the apps on the TV.  Tyson’s eyes drifted to just right of the TV where the partial wall ended and he could barely see part of Gabe’s bed. It was unmade, the dark sheets and blankets still rumpled.

“Was there anything you had in mind when you invited us over?” Nate asked in a tone Tyson absolutely did not trust.

“As a matter of fact,” Gabe said, trailing off.  Tyson darted his eyes away from the bed to look first at Gabe’s smirk and then at the TV, which was displaying the loading screen for—

“You are a parody of yourself,” Tyson groaned, sagging back dramatically against the back of the couch.

“I am aware of my personal brand,” Gabe corrected primly, as _A Knight’s Tale_ began to play on screen.

It was, Tyson was willing to admit, a very good movie.  A classic, if he might be so bold. On any other day, Tyson would enjoy watching the movie, jabbing his friends at the dirtier jokes and swooning over Heath Ledger.  Unfortunately, on this day he was terribly distracted by Gabe’s smooth, warm skin sliding gently against his own, as well as the growing tickle in his throat and itch in his eyes.  Tyson leaned forward to grab the water bottle from the table, sipping at it.

As he leaned back, he jumped as his neck came into contact with something warm and firm--Gabe had stretch out his arm along the back of the couch behind Tyson.  Tyson glanced at Gabe’s face, but he was fully engaged with the movie. Water bottle still in hand, Tyson stretched, pushing into Gabe’s arm to look behind the other man, trying to determine if he had stretched out behind Nate as well.

He had not.

Nate caught Tyson’s gaze and winked.

Tyson flipped him off.  This meant nothing. Gabe was probably stretching out his lance arm.

Tyson settled back in his seat and tried to get back into the movie.  However, his coughing seemed to get worse, no matter how much water he drank.  He finished his water bottle before the ball scene. With nothing else to distract him from the wateryness in his eyes and the burning in his throat, Tyson began to twist the empty plastic in his hands.

At the sound of the crinkling sound, Gabe looked over and smiled.

“Thirsty, Tys?” he asked.  Tyson nodded. Behind Gabe, Nate snickered.  “Want another?”

“Sure,” Tyson croaked.

Gabe smiled at Tyson again, thumped his shoulder with one hand, and stood up.  As he passed in front of Tyson to get the kitchen, Tyson’s eyes zeroed in on specks of white and silver that stood out against the blue of his shirt.  Huh. The specks almost looked like—

Tyson realized with dawning horror that Gabe still had horse hair on him.  In fact, horse hair was probably all over his apartment. Motherfucking shit.

Once Gabe was in the kitchen, Tyson flung his torso across the couch, grasping at Nate’s arm and tugging.

“What the fuck, dude?” Nate said, eyes wide.  Tyson shushed him.

“I need you to sit between me and Gabe,” Tyson whispered.

“Why?  Are you not into it?”

“He’s covered in horse hair, Nate, I am _dying_ here!”

In the kitchen the fridge door slammed, and Tyson’s tugging became more frantic.  Nate, a truly supportive bro, allowed himself to be dragged over the couch cushions, rearranging himself just as Gabe reentered the living area.

Tyson turned back toward the TV, but watched Gabe out of the corner of his eye.  Gabe’s smile dimmed considerably as he took in the new seating arrangement. He handed the water bottle over to Tyson before sitting back down on the couch in the far corner.  He didn’t stretch out his lance arm behind Nate. Tyson felt strangely bereft of an opportunity.

Even though Tyson had put Nate between them, Tyson still felt the effects of the horse hair on his _fucking dumb_ immune system.  His breathing became more wheezing than not, and Nate kept shooting him increasingly concerned looks.  After one particularly drawn out coughing fit, Nate jolted upright in his seat.

“Oh shit, Tys,” he said, turning to look at Tyson, “We need to feed the cat!”

“The cat?” said Tyson and Gabe simultaneously.

Nate grabbed Tyson’s arm, pinching him.  “Yes, we need to _leave_ so we can feed the _cat_.”

“Oh.  Oh!” Tyson stood up, wiping at his eyes.  Nate began herding him toward the door, where they had left their shoes and backpacks.  Gabe followed behind, looking confused and somewhat sad.

“I didn’t know you had a cat,” he said as his guests continued their rushed, awkward exit.

“We’re cat sitting,” Nate said absently.  Shoes and bookbags on, he turned back to Gabe just long enough to say, “Thanks for the movie night, sorry to bail early.  See ya later!”

“Bye!” Tyson croaked as Nate pushed him out the door.  Gabe softly echoed their farewell as they hustled to the elevator bank.

Throughout the awful, jolty elevator ride back down to the lobby and the two block walk down 15th Street to the 10 bus stop, Tyson and Nate remained silent, Tyson burning with regret and embarrassment and histamines.  It was only once they had boarded the bus and sat down did Tyson break the silence.

“Thanks for bailing me out, Nate.”

Nate looked at him with painfully earnest eyes.  “Any time dude. I know that if we were in, like, Sport Authority and I was severely allergic to, like, baseball glove leather, you would do what you could to get me out of there pronto.”

Tyson laughed, breath coming easier now that they were out in mostly horse hair free air.  “Not sure if the two scenarios match up, but sure.”

After a few stops, Tyson sighed and let his head drop to Nate’s shoulder.

“Fucking shitbag horses, man.”

Nate patted his knee consolingly.

 

***

 

Did Tyson mentioned that he doesn’t _actually_ hate the stupid horses?

Beyond the fact that they’re technically classified as megafauna and were actually gigantic balls of chaotic murderous anxiety,and did he mention the unquenchable thirst for human blood?  So yeah, beyond those small details, the horses at his Medieval Times location weren’t all that bad.

EJ’s gummy toothless smile may have been a joke, but his Horse Master skills were legit and he didn’t fuck around: all the horses were well trained and could do amazing stunts and tricks.  The Andalusian horse EJ rode in the show, when the Herald of the King of the North gives the Queen and Princess a gift, was fucking magnificent. If he was out serving while EJ was riding, Tyson always found himself gasping aloud with the crowd at every jump.  EJ mocked the shit out of him later, but come on.

Tyson might’ve had allergies, but he wasn’t allergic to magic and beauty or whatever.

And okay, maybe, if he was held at gunpoint, he would admit that Gabe’s horse Zoey was not, like, the worst.  If Tyson was being incredibly honest while also worryingly intoxicated, he would admit to Zoey being his favorite horse in the whole show.  The whole universe, if he was being dramatic as well.

Zoey was this gorgeous blue roan color that shimmered in the lights of the arena, with a stripe of white down her nose.  And Tyson swore, hand to God, that the color of her electric blue eyes matched Gabe’s to a tee. Not that he had ever seen her up close since, you know, allergies.  Zoey was pretty and energetic, and smart as _fuck_ , and she could turn on a dime with the slightest nudge from Gabe.  So yeah, Zoey was a great horse, but what Tyson liked the most about Zoey was how Gabe was obviously smitten with her.

When the arena managers weren’t looking, Gabe would nudge Zoey right up against the boards and encourage her to stretch her long neck over just enough to secretly let the little kids in the front row pet at her soft nose and cheeks.  And Zoey, who was so lively during the jousts and relays, would stand there making soft gentle snuffling noises as the little kids giggled over her. Gabe always made exaggerated shushing noises at the kids, who giggled even louder, before turning and giving Tyson a wink.

Sometimes, during pauses in the show when the Queen or the Lord Chancellor were addressing the audience while the knights were still in the arena, and when he thought no one was watching, Gabe would stand in front of Zoey and play peek-a-boo with her.  The look of joy and love on his face whenever he removed his gloved hands from in front of Zoey’s eyes was just...ugh.

Every time Tyson saw Gabe doing shit like that, he could feel his breath catch in his throat.

Then again, that was probably the damn allergies.

 

***

 

Wednesday evenings in the apartment were sacred.  By mutual agreement, neither Nate nor Tyson ever sign up for hours at Medieval Times and Nate never registers for Wednesday evening lectures during the school year if he can help it.

Sometimes they used this time to go see new movies, or go see local bands play, or hit up CU Denver alumni networking events even though Nate had just finished his junior year and Tyson’s company didn’t give the interns business cards. Back in January, Tyson had cashed in his company holiday gift swap present, a gift card to a local fitness club, for a series of partner hot yoga sessions on Wednesdays. This had not gone as well as they’d hoped—Tyson spent the next few days after each session walking around bow-legged and gamely ignoring Gabe’s loud laughter—so they decided to stick with jogging and other tame Wednesday night events.

Most of the time, though, Wednesday nights were for grocery shopping.

“How long is kale good for again?” Tyson asked.  He leaned in closer to peer at the leafy green bundles.

“Fuck, dude, I don’t know. Just get the smallest bunch you see. We’ll just make some salads or something. I want to get back in time for _Survivor_.”

All of the bunches looked like roughly Too Much Kale for men of their tastes, so Tyson grabbed one at random and tossed it into the cart. After some deliberation, he grabbed tomatoes and a cucumber as well as some pre-chopped purple cabbage. He wouldn’t admit this except perhaps under threat of death, but now that he was hovering on the cusp of 26, Tyson had officially reached the age where if he didn’t eat vegetables on a regular basis, his body attempted to stage a coup: stomach aches, headaches, joint pain, the works. Hence: weird chopped up purple cabbage in the cart, and Nate’s judgmental yet knowing glance aimed his way.

Nate had been weirdly quiet all evening, seemingly lost in thought.  Tyson was willing to let this slide to an extent, but when he put a box of Lucky Charms and CoCoa Puffs in the cart without a single mocking expression from Nate, Tyson knew something was up.

“You gucci, bro?” Tyson asked in the most casual way he knew how, pushing the cart down the aisle as he pretended to consider the various oatmeal options.  Other than Nate’s disbelieving snort, Tyson had no reason to believe he didn’t pull off supportive-yet-hands-off best friend.

“Gucci?  What is this, 2008?” Nate snarked.  He pulled a box of energy bars off the shelf and examined the nutritional facts.  After a few moments, Nate sighed and swung around to look at Tyson. “So. I put in an application for the squire position a couple of days ago.”

“Yeah?”

“And I got it.”

“Yeah, dude!  Pound it,” Tyson demanded, proffering his first.  With a small smile and a flush, Nate obliged him, bumping their fists together.  “What inspired you to apply?”

“I figured I’d have more time to put into training over the summer since I’m not taking classes until the fall semester,” Nate said, commandeering the grocery cart and pushing it towards the frozen chicken section.  “I should be able to become a knight before classes start up in September, and, uh.” Nate paused, looking uncomfortable. “Well, the knight position pays more, and I really want to start saving more to pay off my loans right after graduation.”

“Makes sense.”  Tyson tossed a family sized bag of chicken nuggets into the cart.  When he looked up, Nate still had an emotionally constipated look on his face.  “C’mon, what’s with the face, Nate-Dogg?”

“Other than the fact that you refuse to buy the good chicken nuggets?”

“We’ve been over this one hundred times before, Nate, I refuse to eat anything that shares my name, and,” Tyson held up a finger to stop Nate’s rebuttal before it could start, “brand names absolutely count.  Also, they’re chicken nuggets, how good can they be?” Tyson took a breath, trying to calm himself down. “But yes, other than that.”

“Don’t know why I even put up with you,” Nate grumbled, turning away to hide the smile that Tyson knew he’d drawn out.  Hell yeah, roommate points to him. “But I don’t know, man, I guess I feel guilty that I can hold a higher paying job at Medieval Times than you because of your allergies.  And we won’t be able to hang out as much at work.”

Tyson drew up short from where he was reaching into the freezer for a package of heat-and-eat lo mein.  That was...incredibly nice of Nate. It made him feel all nice and warm inside knowing he had a best friend who cared so much about him.  “Roommate points to you, too,” Tyson said, dropping the lo mein into the cart. “Thanks for thinking of me, but seriously, man, if I wanted a higher paying side job, I could probably find one.  I technically shouldn’t even be working at MT anyways.”

“I still can’t believe you outright lied about _not_ having severe horse allergies on your application.”

“Plus we live together,” Tyson continued blithely, slinging his arm around Nate’s shoulders.  “We’ll still have plenty of time to hang out. You can’t escape me.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Nate said, now outright smirking at Tyson.  They continued on to the bread aisle, and then doubled back for the soup aisle, and then came back again for dairy and eggs, and at last headed over to the self checkout line and that settled that.

(Except, it wasn’t all totally settled.  A week into Nate’s squire training, Tyson put into place the apartment’s very first hard rule: Nate had to use the sketchy staff room showers to shower super thoroughly before he could be let back into the apartment.  They learned this the hard way when Tyson was red-eyed, wheezy, and Miserable the entire week of Nate’s training. People at work kept softly asking him who died and if he needed any time off. They had to super deep clean the apartment.  Tyson did not want to have to do that again any time soon.

But after _that_ , that settled that.)

 

***

 

Okay, fine, maybe everything wasn’t, like, the most settled it could possibly be.

Or, it was between Nate and Tyson. They were bros, and best friends, and roommates, and super secure in all of the above. The apartment had returned to containing a reasonable amount of horse hair (none) and Nate was markedly less stressed now that he was putting away a little more of each paycheck towards the ever-looming loans.  Sure, they didn’t hang out as much at work anymore, but they made up for it by spending extra hours spread out beside the apartment complex’s pool on Sunday mornings. By most definitions of the word, Tyson didn’t tan, per se, as well as Nate did, but it was still solid roommate time.

No, the shaky aspect of the whole situation revealed itself to be a certain Gabriel Landeskog.

Honestly, Tyson wasn’t sure why he was surprised.

Two and a half weeks into Nate’s squire training, on one of the early-June Friday night shows,Tyson noticed that Gabe was nudging Zoey closer and closer to the boards by his section during the slow parts of the show, even though there were no kids attending.  Weirder than that, Gabe kept staring at him as Tyson distributed the baked potatoes and grilled corn. The staring didn’t even involve obnoxious, over the top winking like usual: just deliberate watching followed by prolonged soulful eye-contact when their eyes met, Gabe’s eyes boring into Tyson’s very being.

The first time Tyson was caught in Gabe’s stare, his knees went weak and he very nearly dropped his tongs and the half cob of corn in his hands.  It was truly, in the purest sense of the word, Excessive. Eyes wide and heart thumping, Tyson stared back at Gabe, until the middle aged man he was in the middle of serving coughed loudly, startling him.  Tyson jerked his gaze away from Gabe and placed the corn on the man’s platter with an awkward, “My apologies, m’lord.”

As Tyson was refilling goblets, he refused to look over at Gabe but he could tell that the Swedish knight was still looking at him between the tournament games.  The one time Tyson allowed himself to glance over at Gabe, Gabe was making a tragic face, full pink lips twisting down into his scruffy blond beard. Their eyes met again and somehow Gabe’s face became even more dramatically pathetic, blue eyes sparkling in the arena’s spotlights.  Tyson made a face at him and turned to go back to the kitchens.

Tyson was, he knew, one of Gabe’s favorite targets for pranks and mockery.  Usually this involved putting packing peanuts in Tyson’s locker, or fake snakes in Tyson’s locker, or balloons in Tyson’s locker… Now that Tyson thought about it, Gabe seemed to have way more access to his locker than he realized.  Regardless, the staring and eye contact and tragic faces Gabe aimed his way during the show that night clearly only meant one thing:

Gabe was definitely up to something.

For the rest of his shift, Tyson tried to prepare himself for whatever Gabe was planning.  Unfortunately, there was not much he could do to prepare himself since he had _no idea what Gabe was up to._  After ushering the guests out of the arena and helping the kitchen staff collect all of the dishes, Tyson went back down to his section in the Burgundy and Blue to wipe down the tables.  Periodically he looked over his shoulder, to make sure Gabe wasn’t sneaking up with a used dishcloth full of whipped cream to smush into his face. Again.

Fool him once, shame on Gabe.  Fool him twice, shame on Gabe again because Tyson shouldn’t be punished for being a loyal, trusting friend.

When he was certain his section was clean, and after seeing neither sexy hide nor beautiful hair of Gabe, Tyson double checked to make sure his tip envelopes were safely tucked away in his apron and turned to take the cleaning supplies to the kitchen.

“Hey, Tyson, you got a moment?”

Tyson yelped, jumping back into the counter behind him and pressing a hand to his rabbiting heart. Gabe stood at the top of the stairs, sweaty and gross and still in his Under Armour and still so, _so_ appealing to Tyson.  His golden hair was, frankly, absurd: it was more like sex hair than metal-and-leather-helmet hair.  A healthy flush dusted Gabe’s tan cheeks, and he was staring at Tyson earnestly with his clear blue eyes and nope, Tyson wasn’t equipped to deal with this.

“Someone needs to put a bell on you,” Tyson said, starting up the stairs and avoiding eye contact as he inevitably met Gabe at the top.

“You want to collar me?  Kinky.” Gabe winked at Tyson, who cursed his very existence.

“If I did, would you promise to be a good boy for me?”

Tyson dropped the cleaning supplies off at the kitchen entrance and held the door out of the arena open for his friend. He frowned when Gabe didn’t immediately follow him through and turned around to see what the hold up was.  Gabe seemed to be caught up in a sudden onset daydream, gazing at Tyson with unfocused eyes as a deeper flush crept down his neck. As Tyson watched, Gabe’s tongue dipped out to lick at his lower lip. That was patently unfair to Tyson.  The universe was actively trying to kill him.

“Dude, come on,” Tyson said, his voice embarrassingly breathy.  “I have to tally the tips and clock out. You wanted to talk about something?”

Gabe shook himself out of whatever Swedish trance he had gotten himself into and followed Tyson out into the main retail area.  It was mostly empty, as Tyson had wasted so much time looking out for impending doom by way of bad pranks that most of the other serfs, wenches, and bartenders had closed out and left. Nate was definitely still showering off the gross horse dandruff so Tyson knew he still had time to spare. Pulling out his tip envelopes, Tyson headed over to the counter by the princess hats, since it had the best lighting. As Tyson settled in to count the money, Gabe propped an elbow on the counter to lean next to him. Like, _right_ next to him.  Personal space bubbles must have been much smaller in Sweden than North America.

“I noticed that you and Nate haven’t been hanging out together anymore,” Gabe said. Tyson shot him a brief look.

“Uh, yeah?”

“Well, I asked Nate what was going on, and he said that it was best if he gave you as much space as possible.  I was wondering if you were okay? I know this must be difficult, especially with you guys still living together.”

 _Oh._ Gabe was probably concerned about how Tyson and his allergies were holding up with Nate’s new job as a glorified horse shit shoveler. That was actually very sweet of him.

“Yeah, it’s been tough the past couple of weeks but I think we’ve found a solution that works for both of us. It’s not something I want to lose my best friend and roommate over, you know?”

Gabe made a sympathetic sound and Tyson looked up, startled to find Gabe leaning even closer than before.

“I just want you to know that I’m here for you,” Gabe said. He reached forward with his free hand to grip at Tyson’s shoulder. “I know it can be really difficult to have something like this come between you two.”

“I mean, most days aren’t that bad, man,” Tyson said, fighting a losing battle not to lean into Gabe’s hand.  “Don’t tell Nate, but sometimes my eyes still water when we ride the bus home together.”

Something in Gabe’s expression shifted abruptly, his eyebrows tilting more towards sad, and Tyson suddenly found himself surrounded in a Gabriel Landeskog embrace.

“Whatever you need, bro, I’m here to help,” Gabe murmured into his ear.  A full body shiver shuddered through Tyson. Involuntarily, he gasped. Gabe shushed him and patted his back softly, saying, “There, there, let it all out.”

Tyson had never shied away from physical contact from his friends.  He was always up for high fives and fist bumps, arms over shoulders and the occasional wrestling match.  Some people (Nate) could go as far as calling him a handsy drunk. Even with Gabe, he had been pretty physically affectionate, but that usually extended to premarital-Duggar-style side hugs and manly arm slaps.

This...this hug, as platonic and chaste as it was, would have made the Duggars and their nineteen-plus children speechless with shock.

He could feel the bright points of contact where Gabe’s hands were rubbing up and down his back, edging lower and burning through his costume shirt like a brand.  The sudden heat between them made Tyson aware of how awkwardly sweaty he was. With every breath he took, he was painfully aware of every single inch of him that was touching Gabe, ribs expanding and pressing into Gabe’s chest and the three layers of clothing between them.  Tyson’s eyes fluttered shut like a fucking soap opera heroine, fuck. Gabe’s scent, a musky mix of fresh sweat and expensive eco-friendly body wash, tickled at Tyson’s nose and the back of his throat.

After nearly a year of working with him, Tyson knew that behind all the mocking and pranks, Gabe was a good friend.  A solid pal, a stand-up bro. But shit, it was one thing to know that the guy was gentle and supportive and another thing entirely to have all that attention focused on Tyson.  It felt like he was simultaneously floating and tethered safely to the ground, physically and emotionally.

Even as the hug dragged out to a perhaps unconvonventional length of time, Tyson couldn’t bring himself to pull away.  Instead, he sighed and turned his face further into Gabe’s neck, breathing in deep and—

 _Motherfucker_.

Tyson pushed himself away from Gabe’s embrace, hands flying to his throat as the normally simple act of breathing became increasingly difficult.  He was too busy trying to catch his breath to notice Gabe’s hurt expression.

“Oh my god,” Tyson said, looking in horror at the horse hair now covering his hands and the front of his body, courtesy of his hug with Gabe.  “I really shouldn’t have done that.”

“Tys, I’m so sorry—”

“I have to—”

Tyson spun around from Gabe and escaped to the locker room.

It took two puffs from his inhaler and one of the quick-acting Claritin pills, but Tyson was finally able to breathe without sounding like the broken penguin toy in _Toy Story 2_.  He stripped out of his costume shirt, abandoning it to the emergency laundry pile in the corner of the staff locker room and pulling on a spare white tee shirt he kept in his backpack.

Crisis at last averted, Tyson took a moment to mentally prepare himself to face Gabe before leaving the locker room: Hi Gabe, yes thank you for that wonderfully supportive hug you gave me, I really must apologize for nearly asphyxiating on you and running away, but at least that happened before I popped a boner and humped you like a dog!

Tyson grimaced.

Why the fuck couldn’t his body _not_ embarrass him in front of Gabe?

Maybe he’d just focus on laughing off his allergic reaction, since Gabe was comforting him about them anyway.

Except, once Tyson emerged from the locker room, the retail area was completely Landeskog-free.  The counter by the princess hats, where he had been counting his tip money prior to the incident, was completely empty.  Tyson pulled out his phone and typed out, _hey where’d u go? did u see where i put the tips?_

Almost immediately the grey typing dots popped up on Tyson’s phone screen, but it took Gabe at least two minutes to send a message.

 

 **Gabe the Babe [sword emoji] [peach emoji] [Swedish flag emoji]** : I closed up for you and clocked you out.

 **Gabe the Babe [sword emoji] [peach emoji] [Swedish flag emoji]** : Sorry for putting you in that position.

 **Gabe the Babe [sword emoji] [peach emoji] [Swedish flag emoji]** : I hope you’re alright.

 

Tyson typed out a quick _all good now bro_ before flinging himself dramatically across the countertop, arm shielding his eyes from reality and the overhead lights.  He stayed that way for a good five minutes before Nate joined him, freshly showered and thankfully free of horse hair.

“Tough night?”

“Nathan, please, put me out of my misery.  Literally end my suffering. Cease my corporeal existence.”

“Did you embarrass yourself in front of Gabe again?”

Tyson lifted his arm just enough to glare at his best friend.  “Do you really have to put so much emphasis on ‘again’?”

Nate sighed and pulled Tyson upright, pushing him in the direction of the exit.  “Let’s go, dude. Dairy Queen is still open, we can get blizzards and you can tell me your tale of woe.”

True to his word, Nate did get Tyson a blizzard and listen to his tale of woe.

And, true to his nature, Nate laughed at Tyson’s entire life and every choice he had ever made that led him to this point.

Tyson refused to speak to him for the entire bus ride home.

 

***

 

In the weeks following the incident, Tyson tried to act as normal around Gabe as possible.  According to Nate, this was an exercise in futility given that both he and Gabe were “really fucking weird with each other, dude.”  Despite the _constant negativity_ he was facing from his roommate, Tyson thought he was doing a great job.

He may have turned down a few invites from Gabe to come over for drinks and video games, but it was only because his coworkers at the Sports Commission kept inviting him to happy hours.  It wasn’t that Tyson was avoiding Gabe, it was just that the happy hours were great networking opportunities if Tyson wanted to turn his internship into a full time opportunity.

Sure his coworkers weren’t as funny, or as nice-mean as Gabe, but Tyson was trying to build his career, okay.  He was a very career-minded individual.

Whenever he said this, Nate always gave him a look like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh in Tyson’s face or shake his finger at him for lying.  It reminded Tyson of his mother, which was not a connection he wanted to make, thanks.

“C’mon, dude,” Nate wheedled, kicking his feet against the breakfast bar in their kitchen on the one Saturday they both had off.  “All of the cast members are going, so you won’t even have to interact with Gabe.”

“I don’t know, man, my social calendar is pretty full tonight,” Tyson said, bent over as he rummaged through the refrigerator.  “I’ve got a very popular dance card. Hey, how do we know if purple cabbage has gone bad?” He held aloft a bag of soggy, vaguely purple chunks obviously covered in spiderwebs of mold.  Nate shot him a look of horror, disgust, and disappointment.

“Tys, we bought that a month and a half ago, please throw that away immediately.  This is why our moms were worried when we decided to live together.”

“Don’t pin this all on me, man.  I caught you eating _my kale_ over the sink while pouring dressing over each individual spot you planned to bite.”

“Well clearly _you_ weren’t going to eat it!” Nate exclaimed, pointing at the garbage can that now housed the vegetable formerly known as purple cabbage.  Tyson made a dismissive noise as he washed his hands of the residual cabbage slime. “And dude don’t distract me. You’ve gotta come out tonight.  Don’t do it for me, do it for Canada.”

Tyson paused.  Nate had him there: it _was_ Canada Day, with only a handful of Canadians around to celebrate with, present company included.  Even so...

“It’s the weekend before the fourth, every bar is going to be full of Americans.”

“So just sing about the beauty and majesty of our country loud enough to drown them out, it’ll be fine.”

Clearly Nate had him over a barrel here, so Tyson had no choice but to agree to go out to a bar with him and the other cast members of Medieval Times.  Decision thoughtlessly ripped from his hands, Tyson mentally cleared his calendar for the evening (a six pack of Moulson, some Celine Dion, and a _Fixer Upper_ marathon) and set his sights on carbo-loading and pre-gaming.

Denver in the summer was amazingly pleasant: warm temperatures, low humidity, cool breezes to prevent any heat strokes.  A tourist’s dream.

Bar Bar at the corner of 21st and Champa, true to its punk roots, spit in the face of this tourist dream.  It was hot and humid, sticky and sweaty, absolutely hands down the best dive bar in Denver if not the whole goddamn planet.  When bands were scheduled to play, the place was packed to the point of being an actual fire hazard, but remained creepily deserted on those rare days without a gig.  Tyson’s mentor in college had introduced him to Bar Bar when he first moved to Denver, describing it as, “A terrible, dirty bar, with cheap drinks and ugly staff. Fuck, dude, it’s perfect.”

Nate and Tyson didn’t pick their apartment because it was an eight minute walk away from Bar Bar, but that was definitely one of the perks.

They rolled into the bar wearing matching Canadian flag sleeveless shirts and three-beers-in sloppy smiles about an hour after the other cast members had arrived—they had ended up getting distracted by the _Fixer Upper_ marathon anyway.  Cheers, sarcastic and sincere alike, went up as Nate and Tyson approached their group.  Bar Bar had apparently opted out of booking a band for the night, so the Medieval Times crew and a few stragglers made up the entirety of the bar’s clientele that night.

“So glad you deigned to grace us with your presence,” EJ snarked from his place in the corner of the booth.  Beside him Gabe sat beaming at the newcomers, looking so happy and soft that Tyson felt something inside him go liquid.  Without entirely meaning to, Tyson found himself drifting towards Gabe.

“Hey,” he said, ignoring the other cast members on the other side of the table.

“Hey,” Gabe said, still smiling up at him.  “You came. You both did!” He turned his bright smile at Nate, who had followed Tyson to the table.

Nate laughed at him.  “Sure did, dude. How many have you had?”

“Enough,” Gabe sniffed.  Behind him, EJ held up three fingers and mouthed “lightweight.”  Gabe caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and batted his hand at the other man.  “Whatever, don’t listen to him. You gonna catch up?”

“Hell yeah!” Nate and Tyson said, and then tried to initiate a three-way high five with Gabe.  It would have looked so sick if they had been sober. The three of them made their way to the bar, EJ remaining at the booth to laugh at them from afar.

An indefinite amount of time and rounds later, Tyson found himself squished into the booth between Nate and Gabe.  EJ and two of the other squires—a guy who was also named Tyson who was, probably, not as great as Tyson, and some other college kid nicknamed Kerfy—sat on the other side of the table.  The other cast members had moved onto another dive bar two rounds previously. Tyson’s head felt heavy and dizzy in a pleasant way, the hot dank air in the bar weirdly comforting. Like a hug from a moldy, stinky, living teddy bear.  But like, a teddy bear you respected and loved even though it maybe didn’t shower as regularly as it should. Or maybe that was why it was moldy and stinky, it took a shower and didn’t dry properly? Should teddy bears shower? How did they prepare for their picnics?

From beside him, Gabe laughed.  It was a good sound, and Gabe’s face probably looked really nice while he was making the sound, so Tyson let his head tilt until he was facing Gabe.  Yeah, he was right: Gabe did look really good while he was laughing.

“What?” Tyson asked.  Gabe smiled again, but he looked fuzzy, like Tyson wasn’t the only drunk at the table.

“You have weird thoughts,” Gabe said.  Tyson made an affronted noise and shoved at Gabe.  Gabe giggled again and then swayed back into Tyson’s space, closer than before.  “No, no, don’t be mad, I like your weird thoughts. Even if they are about moldy teddy bear hugs.”  Gabe reached up to pat at Tyson’s hair, which turned into more of a petting motion. This petting felt much nicer than it had any right to.

“Ha, Teddy Barrie,” Nate snickered from the other side of Tyson.  Tyson turned to face his beautiful asshole roommate, intent on punishing Nate for ruining the moment he was having with Gabe.

Tyson and Nate squabbled, throwing hands so ineffectively that they succeeded only in landing gentle hits on each other and nearly knocking over EJ’s drink.  EJ rolled his eyes at them and grabbed his drink, moving out of the booth and towards the bar. Like two lost puppies eager to escape the play fighting of slightly larger puppies, is-Kerfy-really-his-name and Other Tyson followed him.

Eventually the squabbling devolved into giggles, Tyson and Nate leaning against each other and stealing sips out of each other’s drinks.  Nate, Tyson realized all of a sudden in his fuzzy brain space, was a fuckin’ great best friend. The greatest. He made sure Tyson got up on time in the mornings, he went grocery shopping with Tyson, he talked Tyson into going out instead of binge watching _Fixer Upper_ , just.  Ugh. A fuckin’ legend.  Everyone should know this.

Tyson turned to Gabe, to make sure he knew what a fucking legend Tyson’s best friend was, only to find Gabe already watching them, a soft, fond smile pulling at his lips.

“What?” Tyson asked.  Did he have something on his face?

“Nothing,” Gabe said, not looking away from either of them.  “I’m just so glad you and Nate made up. I really like hanging out with you,” he admitted, shifting to look up at them from under his eyelashes.

“Aw, buddy,” Tyson said, patting at Gabe’s forearm where it rested on the sticky tabletop.  “We really like hanging out with you too. Hanging out with the guy with the best hair at Denver’s Medieval Times is nothing to sneeze at!”

“You think I have the best hair?” Gabe asked, wrinkling his nose adorably and running a hand through the aforementioned glorious locks.

“Oh my god,” said Nate from beside Tyson, like a buzzkill.

“Totally, my guy,” Tyson assured him emphatically.  “With your golden Disney prince hair and your, like, bronze skin, and your fuckin’ chiseled chin.”  Tyson was all too aware that his face was quickly turning red all over, well beyond his usual alcohol flush. And god, his mouth just kept going.  “You’re like a goddamn stallion: the perfect knight, man.”

“I have to go now,” Nate said suddenly, pushing himself out of the booth and wandering away to chat with the other squires by the bar.  Tyson stared after his friend with wide, lost eyes before turning back to Gabe, who was still grinning at him, the corners of his blue eyes crinkled up.  They were the only two left in the booth, intimate and cocooned away from the rest of the bar.

“The perfect knight?”

“You know what I mean,” Tyson mumbled, drawing one finger through the ring of condensation on the tabletop left from Nate’s drink.

Gabe nudged Tyson’s shoulder with his own and didn’t move away, leaving their sides pressed together.  “You’d make a good knight, too, Tys. I’m serious,” he insisted, at Tyson’s snort, “you should apply to start training as a squire.”

“Nah, man, I’m not cut out to be a knight.”

At this, Gabe affected a deeply offended look.

“No,” he said.  “No, no, no, look.”  Gabe slapped a big, warm hand down on Tyson’s upper thigh, squeezing at the muscle it found there.  Tyson jumped, his alcohol-slow blood starting to pump through his body, heartbeat thrumming in his ears and underneath Gabe’s fingertips.  “Look,” Gabe said again, Tyson’s eyes trained on the image of Gabe’s hand splayed across his leg, so close to his— “Your thighs are so perfect.  You’d be great at riding. Riding horses, I mean.

“And your arms,” Gabe continued suddenly, his hand moving to smooth up Tyson’s bare arm from his wrist to his shoulder, thumbing at his collar bone.  Tyson swallowed audibly. “They’re amazing. You’d learn sword fighting and jousting so quickly. And the crowds, Tys,” Gabe breathed, eyes meeting Tyson’s.  His blue eyes were almost entirely pupil in the dim lighting of the bar and his face seemed so much closer than before. Tyson shivered as Gabe’s hand drifted from his shoulder to his neck, fingers burying into the curls at Tyson’s nape. “The crowds would love you.  You’re so funny and caring and like, dude, everyone loves you, you’d be such a good knight.”

Tyson was drunk off the many rounds of alcohol they had shared that night and the intoxicating feeling of Gabe’s hands on his bare skin.  They leaned so close together that they were sharing breath, the proximity going to Tyson’s head. He was flustered and lightheaded.

“That’s so…” Tyson trailed off, licking his suddenly dry lips.  Maybe it was a trick of the light, or drunken wishful thinking, but Tyson would swear Gabe’s eyes dropped to stare at his mouth.  “That’s so nice of you, dude, but I physically can’t be a knight. I’m allergic to horses.”

Gabe pulled back, eyes sweeping back up to meet Tyson’s.

“You’re what now?”

“Allergic to horses.  Yeah, my guy, I get respit— respir— I can’t fuckin’ breathe aroung them.  My throat swells up, and, and my eyes get all gross and watery, and sometimes I just get super sweaty.  Just, like,  _so_  sweaty.  Dude the worst is when I have to break the inhaler out. Hanging out with you and Nate after your shifts when my allergy meds have worn off nearly kills me, or else I’d be all over you—um.  To hang out, I mean.” Tyson chuckled nervously.

The hand in Tyson’s hair disappeared as Gabe turned away, staring down at the tabletop with furrowed blond brows.  “Oh,” he said after a few blinks, still not looking up at Tyson.

Tyson’s insides turned cold as Gabe’s silence drew out and he refused to even look at Tyson.  Flushed and vaguely nauseous, Tyson decided he needed to immediately remove himself from the situation so he wouldn’t embarrass himself further.

“I’m gonna...I’m gonna go use the bathroom,” he said, knowing full well that the Bar Bar bathroom has not once been in service in the five years he had lived in Denver.  He scurried away from the booth before he could hear Gabe’s response.

Body coursing with panicky adrenaline and residual low grade arousal, Tyson scanned the moderate crowd along the bar for his roommate, finally spotting him talking to Kerfy-has-to-be-short-for-something-right.  Thank god Nate was relatively taller and blonder than the average Denver punk. Tyson gently shoved the other squire aside with a frantic “sorry, emergency!” and gripped Nate’s arms.

“I fucked up,” Tyson said before Nate could yell at him for being rude to the kid.

“What did you do?” Nate asked, bewildered.

“I don’t know,” Tyson whined.  “I think we were flirting, because he was touching me like this—” Tyson demonstrated on Nate, who shivered and pushed him off, “—and telling me that I would make a good knight and that everyone loves me, and he was leaning in, and I… and I…”

“What?”

“I started talking about my fucking gross horse allergy to Gabriel one-thousand-on-a-scale-of-ten Landeskog, Nathan.”

Nate sighed longsufferingly and covered his eyes with one palm before turning back to the bar.  “You’re a fucking idiot, man. I love you, but _damn_.”

“And now he probably is rethinking even hanging out with me because what kind of idiot can’t even breathe right all the time?  And I talked about getting too sweaty. Nate, Nathan, Nate-Dogg, why would a beautiful Viking god like Gabe want to date someone who gets sweaty around horses?  It’s not even an interesting allergy!”

Nate pressed a newly acquired glass of water into Tyson’s hands.  “Shut up and drink this, dude.” Tyson cautiously obeyed, sipping at the water.  “Calm down, eh? I’m sure Gabe’s not worried about you having overactive sweat glands or, having a lame allergy, or, or fuck, not knowing how to breathe right.  He’s probably just a little surprised. I don’t think he knew about the allergies, Tys.”

Tyson made a gargled sound of surprise.  Water dribbled down his chin.

“Finish your water and we’ll go talk to him.”

Quietly, Tyson did so.  The panic and arousal had died down a little, leaving him dizzy, tired, and unexpectedly melancholy.  It would take more than one glass of water to sober him up completely, but Tyson was far enough away from being drunk that he cringed in embarrassment whenever his mind touched on the memory of Gabe squeezing his thigh.

At last, Tyson finished the water and gathered enough courage to slowly meander back to the booth, Nate admittedly leading the way.  However, Gabe was no longer at the booth, replaced instead by Tyson the Second and for-real-though-Kerfy.

“Have you guys seen Gabe?” Nate asked, tapping at Tyson 2’s shoulder.

The kid squinted up at Nate from his phone, alcohol flushed and slow.  “I think EJ took him home like ten minutes ago. Said he was looking a little too woozy and he needed to sleep off the cocktails.”

“Oh,” whispered Tyson.

Nate thanked them, and made sure they were good to go home, especially since Baby Tyson—“Tys, he is technically taller than you, please just call him Josty”—was still technically not legal to drink.  Rides arranged for the other squires, Nate guided Tyson out of the bar into the considerably cooler Denver night air. They turned down 21st Street towards their apartment.

In the apartment, Nate doled out water, aspirin, and bottles of gatorade before declaring it bedtime.  Before heading into their bedrooms, Tyson confessed to Nate, “I just don’t understand what happened tonight.”

With a soft, fond smile, Nate drew Tyson into a side hug, patting his shoulder.

“It’ll make more sense in the morning.”

It wouldn’t, but it was nice of him to say so.

 

***

 

Tyson, knowing his luck regarding interpersonal relationships, fully expected Gabe to ghost him after Bar Bar.

Or, ghost him as much as one Medieval Times employee could ghost another.

Instead, Gabe began acting exceedingly more friendly.  He started hanging out with Tyson and Nate before their shifts started, asking about Nate’s next semester and Tyson’s internship. Tyson’s breath kept catching in his throat, but that was caused by the impossibly tight jeans and shorts Gabe insisted on wearing rather than the presence of any horse hair.  During the performances, between shows, and any other times Gabe _was_ covered in horse hair, he would smile and wave at Tyson while maintaining a careful distance.

Tyson found himself even more charmed and head over heels in _something_ with Gabe which, _fuck_ , he didn’t even think was possible.  Stupid considerate fucker.

Even so, the topic of Tyson’s allergic reactions never came up and Gabe never brought up their moment at Bar Bar.

It was weird, deeply suspicious, and definitely nefarious.

When Tyson mentioned this to Nate during a Wednesday night Mario Kart death match, Nate laughed so hard he drove Princess Peach right off Rainbow Road.

Which, rude.  But Tyson’s Toad ended up winning that round, so who was the laughing stock _now_ , Nathan?

 

***

 

It all came to a head on Tuesday night.  This in and of itself was quite weird, considering nothing exciting or new ever seemed to happen to Tyson on Tuesdays.

It was a super slow day, slower than usual since apparently the entirety of Denver decided to go see the Rockies play the Mets down at Coors Field, and the box office was scrambling to put at least one party in each knight’s section.  Ten minutes before the show was set to start, the operations manager gave in and pulled some of the serfs and wenches from the procession and instead put them in Red and Yellow Knight’s section so Dutchy had someone to cheer for him. Poor guy hadn’t had much luck in the way of audiences lately, and it was an open secret that he had been looking into other renaissance faire and horse ranch openings.

The one party in his section of the Burgundy and Blue was very low key, just two tipsy retirees celebrating their fortieth anniversary.  They were super cute, and bought a couple of flags and pictures from the wenches, and Tyson basically wants them to adopt him.

“It’s Margaret’s first time here,” Victoria told him, smiling fondly at her wife.  “She didn’t realize that there were real horses.”

“I just thought it was going to be two men running at each other with lances, but this is much better!” Margaret responded.  She waved her flag at the nearest knight. Victoria held her free hand and patted it lovingly.

“I have to go check the chickens,” Tyson gasped out, walking to the kitchen so that they wouldn’t be put off their meal by him crying over the beauty of their relationship.

When Tyson showed up with their dessert pastries just before the jousting tournament, Margaret pulled out the chair on the other side of her and patted it.  “Oh, please join us, Tyson,” she said, smiling up at him. She looked so much like a kindly elementary school librarian, with her knitted cardigan and her cats-eye glasses and her floppy burgundy and blue cardboard crown that Tyson literally could not say no to her.

“Well—”

“Tyson, we insist!”

There was nothing else that really needed to be done at the moment, so… “If my noble ladies insist, then I shan’t let them down!”

Victoria and Margaret smiled at him indulgently as Tyson sat down, just in time for the Black and White Knight to select the Blue and Green knight as his opponent.  The two knights jousted a few rounds, the lances shattering on their shields and sending wooden chunks up into the netting that protected the spectators. On the third pass, the Black and White knight was knocked to the ground.  He rolled dramatically on the ground before standing and drawing his sword to engage the Blue and Green knight in armed combat. As small as the audience was, cheers rang out in the arena as the Blue and Green knight defeated his opponent.  As the Blue and Green Knight celebrated his victory, the Black knight rode into the arena.

The sequence of the show continued, the Black knight defeating the Blue and Green knight, Dutchy the Red and Yellow knight defeating the Black knight, the Golden Knight defeating Dutchy.  Tyson had seen this show just under six million times before, but it was still super easy to get into, cheering on the allies of the Burgundy and Blue while viciously booing the other knights.

And okay, _okay,_ maybe he cheered ever louder when Gabe entered the arena decked out in his Burgundy and Blue armor and helmet. Gabe waved at the crowd, aiming cheesy finger guns at Tyson.  It was fine, they were friends. Totally normal behavior.

With a slight nudge, Zoey high stepped her way into position, facing off against the Golden knight on her bay gelding Winston.

(A note: Tyson did not try to learn these horse words.  He did not want to know the horse’s official coat colors, or the horse’s names, or the horse’s personalities.  But it was hard _not_ to pick up the lingo when it turned out that the real reason Nate applied for the squire position was because he was secretly a _twelve-year-old Horse Fanatic_.)

Nate, speak of the secretly-horse-obsessed devil, scrambled through the sand to Gabe’s side and hefted a lance up to him.  On the other end of the arena, the Golden knight’s squire did the same. After their squires cleared the area, Gabe and the Golden knight saluted each other with their lances before they lowered their helmets’ visors.

Then, they tilted at each other.

Despite himself, Tyson gasped at the first pass, both knights’ lances making contact with their opponents’ shields.  The horses slowed from a canter to a trot to a walk ( _goddamnit, Nate_ ) and Gabe and the Golden knight shook out their arms from the impact.  Once repositioned, they accepted a second lance from their squires and prepared for the next tilt.

“Oh no,” gasped Margaret as Gabe’s lance missed the Golden knight’s shield, falling from Zoey when the Golden knight’s aim stayed true.  Gabe rolled in the sand before popping up and springing for the weapons hung along the arena boards. He grabbed a flail and turned back to the Golden knight, who had dismounted Winston. Zoey and Winston, the well trained horses that they were, trotted off to the backstage area beyond the arena.

The fight was well-choreographed, featuring many different weapons and dramatic acrobatics. At one point, the Golden knight’s helmet was knocked clear off. Both Victoria and Margaret gasped as the knight’s long brown hair swished around her face.  The Golden knight held her sword aloft in a two handed grasp, and then swiftly thrust it down point first at where Gabe laid prone on the sand beneath her.

Embarrassingly, a strangled cry caught in Tyson’s throat as Gabe managed to roll away just in time, the Golden knight’s sword burying itself in the sand. Tyson faked a cough when he noticed Victoria and Margaret giving him coy looks. With all of the gasping he was doing, it was a good thing he had taken another dose of Claritin between the soup and the entrée.

At last Gabe was able to get the upper hand, knocking the Golden knight’s sword out of her hand and dramatically throwing her to the sand. Gabe took one mighty swing at her chest plate with his morning star and the arena lights went dark with the exception of one spotlight shining down on Gabe and the Golden knight, symbolizing the Burgundy and Blue victory.

The crowd went wild. Tyson gave a standing ovation before Margaret laughingly pulled him back into his seat.

As the house lights came back on, Gabe removed his helmet and strode forward to kneel below the balcony where the Queen and the Princess were seated. The Princess, played that night by a sweet nineteen year old college student named Maddie, stood to address Gabe and the audience.

“Congratulations Sir Knight of the Burgundy and Blue,” she said, voice ringing clear in the arena. “You have demonstrated great courage and valor, defeating all opponents in battle through mastery of horse and weapon. I name thee Champion of the Tournament!” Gabe stood and waved grandly at the audience.  Maddie continued, “As the Tournament Champion, you must now choose one of the nobles in attendance to crown as your Queen of Love and Beauty!”

Tyson got up from his borrowed seat to gather the rest of his groups’ plates and leave an envelope for tips.  He knew how the rest of the show went: the Champion was supposed to pick his Queen of Love and Beauty, usually the youngest girl celebrating a birthday in the audience, or anyone who was especially clamoring for the title.  Then, after celebrating his Queen, the Champion would have to defend the Princess’s honor against the Herald of the King of the North. The defeat of the Herald would mark the end of the show, and everyone would go home, and Tyson would count out his tips, clean up, clock out, and leave.  Easy peasy.

Except.

Except when Tyson glanced back at the arena, Gabe wasn’t considering the handful of birthday kids, or the one or two excited moms, or the overly enthusiastic serfs and wenches in the Red and Yellow section.  Instead, he was staring straight at Tyson, a funny little smile playing at his lips. Tyson’s heart leaped into his throat when Gabe’s eyes caught on his, and the little smile grew in intensity, breaking across Gabe’s face like the sun breaking through the clouds, and—oh _fuck_ —he started heading straight towards Tyson’s section.

Rooted to the spot, mind buzzing with staticky white noise, Tyson could not move as Gabe hopped the boards out of the arena and into the stands.  Beside him, Victoria and Margaret tittered excitedly, grasping each other’s hands and cooing as Gabe approached Tyson.

Still grinning that sunshine grin, dimple out in full force, Gabe sank to one knee.

“Oh my god!” whispered Margaret in elation.

“Oh my god,” Tyson said, faintly.

“Not quite,” said Gabe, winking, “just Gabriel.”  Then he cleared his throat. “It is my intention to name this man, Tyson Barrie, the Queen, uh, King of Love and Beauty of this tournament.”

“You are _so_ fucking dramatic, Landeskog,” whispered Maddie from, like, _right_ beside Tyson, Jesus Christ, when did she get there?  She uncovered the small microphone attached to her gown and declared to the audience, “Your tournament champion has chosen the noble Tyson Barrie as his King of Love and Beauty!”

Confused, but still in good enough spirits, as children and drunk people at jousting tournaments tend to be, the meager crowd clapped and cheered wildly.  Tyson was sure he was bright red, but he couldn’t look away from Gabe’s sparkling blue eyes and pink-tinged cheeks.

“You may now rise and crown your King, Sir Knight of the Burgundy and Blue,” Maddie continued.

Gabe rose to his feet, stepping even closer to Tyson.  He smelled like leather and metal and sweat and _horse_ , and _thank God_ Tyson had re-upped his Claritin.  Tyson was ninety-two percent sure his body was actually vibrating with nerves and excitement and hope. Gabe accepted the standard crown of daisies and carnations from Maddie and reached up to place the crown on Tyson’s head.

As he carefully adjusted the crown on Tyson’s head, his fingers trailed gently into his curls and Gabe leaned in to whisper, mouth brushing against his ear, “Want to get Dairy Queen with me after your shift?  Nate says it’s your favorite.”

And honestly?   _Honestly_ ?   _Fuck_ the layers of metal, and leather, and wool, and synthetic hybrid cotton Under Armour between them, because Tyson has never wanted to get his hands on Gabe’s body this badly in his _life_.  If it was not for the the still cheering crowd of Medieval Times revellers and their coworkers, Tyson would grasp Gabe’s beautiful bearded face in his hands and kiss him, possibly until the heat death of the universe.

As it was—

“Yes,” Tyson croaked out embarrassingly fast, leaning into the hand that was now cradling the back of his head. “Yes, please.”

“Good.”  Gabe’s smile became softer, not as wide, almost more private and just for Tyson. He eyes crinkled up at the corners and oh god, Tyson has got it so bad.

Except maybe. Maybe Gabe had it bad, too?

Tyson swayed a little more into Gabe’s space and abruptly the soft smile transformed into a smirk. The hand cupping the back of Tyson’s head dragged forward to the hinge of his jaw, and Tyson’s mouth dropped as Gabe’s thumb traced lightly under his bottom lip. Gabe leaned forward and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll be _extra_ thorough when I shower after this. I don’t want you distracted by an allergy attack.”

 _Oh my god_.

Before Tyson could even fucking process this, Gabe had stepped away, waving beatifically at the audience.

For a split second, Tyson was absolutely convinced that everything that had just happened was nothing more than the result of a Claritin overdose. Perhaps an antihistamine-induced coma or series of very convincing hallucinations. Hesitantly Tyson reached up to run his fingers over the delicate petals of the flower crown.

Okay, check, flower crown definitely happened. But did Gabriel Landeskog really ask him out on a Dairy Queen date?

Almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, Gabe, who had been preparing to hop the boards to get back into the arena, turned to give Tyson one last, surprisingly shy glance before biting his lip and looking away.

Tyson blinked, then pinched himself.

Nope, he was still at Medieval Times, pewter plates in hand and crowned the King of Love and Beauty by Gabriel Landeskog who had apparently just asked him out for ice cream.  He could roll with that.

“Tyson? Tyson, sweetheart!”

“What? Oh!”  Tyson shook himself out of his trance and looked back at Margaret and Victoria. Victoria held out the tip envelope, two twenties peaking out, while Margaret fondly smiled at him, one hand pressed to her chest.  Tyson accepted the envelope and slipped it into his pocket with a word of thanks.

“Oh no, darling, thank you!  You certainly have made our anniversary very special,” Victoria said kindly.  “That knight is very lucky to have such a special young man to call his own.”

“We put a little extra in the envelope so you can get yourselves a treat for _later_ ,” Margaret added with a salacious wink.  Tyson’s flush, which had been slowly fading, rushed back with a vengeance.

With another stuttered out thank you, Tyson decided that he had to leave immediately so he didn’t hyperventilate and inhale even more horse hair.

He didn’t want to pass out before his date, after all.

 

***

 

Tyson rushed through his closing duties, thankful that the audience had been small and that he had fewer tables to wipe down.  In the staff locker room, he changed out of the wool costume shirt and into the purple button-down he had worn to work that morning.  It seemed a little douchey, wearing a button-down to an ice cream date, but it’s not like Gabe had given him any forewarning. It was the button down or the slightly grody and very itchy costume shirt, which, no.

After buttoning the shirt, leaving the top two buttons undone, Tyson carefully placed the flower crown back on his head.

Listen, that shit was cute.  Tyson was seriously considering learning how to dry flowers so he could keep the crown forever.

He grabbed his backpack and wandered out to the front of the store to wait awkwardly as Gabe showered and oh boy wasn’t that a thought.  As the other serfs, wenches, and bartenders passed him on their way out, they bestowed upon him many fistbumps, high fives, and sly smirks.  Tyson appreciated the fistbumps and high fives and pretended to ignore the smirks. Even Julie, who had played the role of the Queen that night, slapped him on the back and told him, “You kids deserve each other.”

“Thank...you?”

She shot him a finger gun—how did she manage to make it look cool when Nate always said that Tyson’s finger guns were lame?—and exited the restaurant.

As Tyson watched Julie leave, totally envious of her effortless coolness, a hand trailed across his shoulder. He jumped and turned to face a freshly showered Gabe, who managed to look simultaneously shy and pleased that he snuck up on him.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Tyson manfully resisted the urge to shoot Gabe some finger guns, for lack of knowing what to do next.  Gabe’s hair was slightly damp from his shower, slowly drying into its usual soft, fluffy shape. He wore a plain black shirt and his usual pair of jeans.  His cheeks were flushed, either from the shower or from something else, and he was biting his lip to hide his smile. Tyson thought he had never looked better.

Gabe took a step closer to Tyson, one hand reaching out briefly before dropping away.  “Uh, you ready to go?”

“As always, dude,” Tyson said, and fuck, finally succumbed to the finger guns.  God, it was like Julie had primed him to strike out with lameness.

Instead of backing away slowly with a polite but firm “thanks but I’ve changed my mind,” Gabe laughed, no longer holding his grin back.  His hand darted forward again, trailing against the fingers of one of Tyson’s hands before gripping his wrist.

“Of course,” he said, and pulled Tyson to the exit.  “You’re always ready for dessert.”

Tyson squawked in outrage.  “You’re the one who asked me, asshole!”

“Yeah, I did,” Gabe said smugly, throwing a smile Tyson’s way.  Tyson seriously considered melting on the spot, but ultimately decided to remain upright, purely for the promise of ice cream.

To Tyson’s eternal delight and embarrassment, as Gabe steered him towards Cherry Creek Trail, he shifted from gripping his wrist to gripping his hand.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Tyson said after a few minutes of walking down the trail. Reflections from the street lights and buildings flickered in the waters of Cherry Creek.

“Oh no.”

“I finally figured out why you aren’t picked to be the Tournament Champion more often.”

Gabe gave him a flat look. “Oh?”

Tyson took a very deep breath and laced their fingers together. “It’s because if your head got any bigger from winning the tournaments, your helmet would crack in two and you would have to get a new one custom made.”

For a beat, Gabe was silent. Out of the corner of his eye, Tyson could see him looking down at their interlocked hands, a soft expression on his face. Then all of a sudden, he looked up at Tyson, mouth twisted in indignation.

“My head is not that big!” He shoved at Tyson with his shoulder, causing the two of them to veer off the pavement and perilously close to the creek. He did not let go of Tyson’s hand. “You’re such a dick.”

“It’s part of my charm.”

Gabe rolled his eyes, but pointedly did not disagree.

They turned off the trail onto Blake Street and walked the few blocks to 16th Street.  The pedestrian block was busier than usual on a Tuesday night at ten, but the majority of the people wandering along the pavement between restaurants wore Rockies swag. They all appeared pretty excited, so Tyson was willing to bet the Rockies had won. Then again, they _were_ playing the Mets.

Gabe held the door open as they entered the Dairy Queen.  When they approached the counter, the girl at the register perked up.

“Hey Tyson, you want your usual tonight?”

Tyson made frantic cut-it-out motions at the cashier but it was too late: Gabe had already swung around to look at Tyson, a look of unholy glee on his face.  “You have a usual?”

“Do not mock me, Gabriel, I am a grown man who knows what he wants.”

“Do you, now?”

The Look Gabe gave him was not something Tyson felt equipped to handle at that time, so he ignored the flush growing on his face and said to the cashier, “Thank you, Yvonne, I _would_ like my usual.”

Gabe placed his order as well, a peanut buster parfait, and insisted on paying for both treats.  Yvonne whipped up the chocolate chip cookie dough blizzard and peanut buster parfait, flipping Tyson’s blizzard upside down upon completion.  They gathered their treats and found a bench outside to sit, their knees and shoulders brushing together.

They were quiet for the first few bites, until Gabe suddenly made a noise of distress.  At Tyson’s wide eyed look, Gabe winced and said apologetically, “I should have asked before I ordered, but you’re not allergic to peanuts, are you?”

“What?  Oh my god dude,” Tyson laughed, “I’m not allergic to everything!”

“You are severely allergic to horses and yet you work at Medieval Times,” Gabe said, and shoved another spoonful of soft serve and peanuts into his mouth.  “Forgive me for looking out for your wellbeing when you have proven yourself to be incapable of that.”

“Harsh.”  Tyson patted at Gabe’s knee.  “Thanks for looking out for me, though.”

“Any time.”  When Tyson looked over, Gabe was smiling fondly at him, cheeks pink in the streetlights.  Tyson smiled back, eyes caught. “I’ve been wondering. Why did you even start at Medieval Times?  Isn’t there a question about horse allergies in the application and interview?”

“Oh yeah,” Tyson said and took a bite of his blizzard.  Mouth full, he mumbled, “I lied. I just take a shit ton of Claritin everyday.  Nate says taking it so often is gonna kill me, but I’m not taking medical advice from an economics major.”

“Bold words from a—I’m sorry, what was your major again?”

“Strategic Communication.”

Tyson took a few more bites of his blizzard before he noticed the loaded silence between them.  He looked up to find Gabe staring at him, an incredulous look on his face, peanut buster parfait forgotten and melting in his hands.

“What?”

“You have a degree in Strategic Communication.”

“Technically it’s a certificate, and I have a minor in Theatre, but—”

“You have a degree in Strategic Communication, and you failed to strategically communicate with me that you’re allergic to my horse?”

“When you put it that way, this whole situation seems kinda dumb.”

To Tyson’s relief, after a brief pause Gabe just laughed and took a sloppy bite of his peanut buster parfait soup.  Tyson pressed his thigh against Gabe’s and received a nudge in return.

“This sounds stupid now,” Gabe began, “but I thought you didn’t like me, or that you were uncomfortable around me.  You kept avoiding me.” Gabe gave Tyson the most pathetic puppy dog eyes Tyson had ever seen, besides Nate. “And, I may have also thought you and Nate were dating at one point,” he added in a rush.

“No, dude!  Not you, just your horse.  Well, okay, Zoey’s great, I’m just super allergic to her.” Tyson paused.  “Wait, you seriously thought Nate and I were dating? Gross, he’s just my roommate and best friend forever.  No, man, I’m crazy about you. I’ve been hung up on you since I first started at Medieval Times.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  Just ask Nate, I’ve been super embarrassing about it.”

“Why am I not surprised? Ow,” Gabe said, laughing, as Tyson punched his shoulder.  He rubbed it, and then pressed tighter against Tyson. “But for the record? Uh, me too.”

They looked into each other’s eyes, blushing and quiet and happy.  It was super gross and sappy. Tyson loved every second of it.

Tyson was suddenly hit by a wave of embarrassment: he was twenty six years old and this whole situation has been one huge Mess that could have been avoided.  As he was wont to do in times of self awareness and stress, Tyson took another massive bite of his melting blizzard. He swallowed and looked back up at Gabe.  Gabe, however, was not looking at him. Or rather, he wasn’t making eye contact with Tyson, instead looking a few inches down.

“Hey,” he said, voice lower and slightly rough.  Tyson shivered. “You’ve got, uh, on your face.”

Gabe gestured at his mouth, and Tyson reached up to wipe at his own mouth.

“Did I get it?”

“No, here, let me—” and Gabe leaned in to press his mouth against Tyson’s.

Tyson dropped his blizzard cup.

It was empty, so he didn’t waste any delicious ice cream or cookie dough, but looking back on it, Tyson would feel it was sufficiently dramatic for the situation.

Before Tyson could react to the glorious feeling of Gabe’s lips pressed to his, before he could run his fingers through Gabe’s soft beard, before he could trace the delicate shell of Gabe’s ear with his fingertips, before he could do any number of the many things he ever wanted to do while kissing Gabriel Landeskog, Gabe pulled back.

Gabe brought one hand up to cup Tyson’s cheek.  It was wet, damp from the condensation off the peanut buster parfait.  It felt weird, and Tyson definitely leaned further into it. Gabe said, “I should have asked—”

“Get back here,” Tyson growled, wrapping a hand around Gabe’s shoulders and reeling him back in.

Despite Tyson’s eagerness, which was delightfully matched by Gabe, the second kiss remained chaste, as did the third. The fourth kiss was interrupted by Tyson giggling because how was this even his life, seriously?  Gabe pulled back again, cheeks flushed and hair in disarray thanks to Tyson’s wandering fingers. He gave Tyson an overly grumpy face.

“What’s so funny, Tyson?  This is no laughing matter.”

Tyson snorted, a little lightheaded.  He could feel his heartbeat in his lips.  “Did I even have anything on my face?”

Gabe’s frown broke into a smile and he ducked his head.  “No,” he admitted and _fuck_ that was smooth.  Tyson had assumed Gabe had moves--you don’t get that far in life looking like an actual Disney Viking Prince without learning some moves--but to have those moves used on him?  That was... That was wow.

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”  Gabe gave Tyson a look from beneath his eyelashes that was equal parts heat and shyness, and Tyson knew he was going to say yes to whatever Gabe was going to ask next.  “Hey,” Gabe said, wrapping a hand around Tyson’s wrist, “you wanna come over and watch a movie tonight?”

Tyson _should_ politely request a raincheck, since it was eleven on a Tuesday night, and he had his internship the next day.  Tyson _should_ ask that they not rush into things.  Tyson _should_ do a lot of things in this situation, but Tyson was not known for doing what he _should_ .  For example, Tyson _should not_ work around horses when their hair put him in acute respiratory distress.  And yet.

Tyson did not always do what he _should_ , but he frequently did what he wanted.

“Yes,” he said, darting forward to place a kiss at the corner of Gabe’s mouth.  “Let’s go.”

 

***

 

“We’re not actually going to watch a movie, right?” Tyson asked, closing the apartment door behind him.

Gabe grinned and placed his hands on Tyson’s waist, walking him back against the door.  “Not if you don’t want to,” he murmured before kissing up Tyson’s neck. “I don’t want to pressure you into making any spur of the moment decisions.”

“No, no, this is good,” Tyson gasped, winding his arms around Gabe’s shoulders.  Gabe hummed in agreement before sucking at what was sure to be an impressive hickey just under Tyson’s ear.  Tyson whined and his head thumped against the back of the door, dislodging the previously forgotten flower crown.  He grabbed the crown and flung it onto the kitchen counter.

Daringly, Tyson skimmed one hand down Gabe’s back before slipping it into the back pocket of his jeans, taking a healthy handful, and squeezing.  Gabe gasped against Tyson’s neck and Tyson moved his other hand to grasp at Gabe’s soft perfect hair, directing his mouth up into a kiss. Unlike their kisses outside of Dairy Queen, this kiss was thoroughly unchaste: deep, wet, and messy.

It was, without a doubt, the greatest thing Tyson had ever experienced in his twenty-six years on earth.

And then Gabe bit lightly at his lower lip, hips pushing forward into Tyson’s, and said, “You want to move this beyond the front door?” and okay, yeah, it just kept getting better and better.

“Yes, please,” Tyson gasped, voice going embarrassingly high and breathy as Gabe’s hips continued hitching into his.  His hands shifted to mirror Tyson’s, squeezing his ass and pulling him forward. Tyson’s dick had been interested in the situation since before he and Gabe boarded the elevator down in the lobby, and it jumped to attention as they pushed their hips together.

Their kisses got even sloppier as Gabe slipped one thickly muscled thigh between Tyson’s legs.  After giving one particularly hard suck to Gabe’s tongue, Tyson pushed him away. “No,” he said, lips feeling slick and bruised, “Go. To the couch at least.”

“Someone’s hot to trot,” Gabe smirked, gripping Tyson’s hips and walking backwards.  His knees hit the back of the couch and he sat down, pulling Tyson into his lap. The burning stretch in his thighs as he straddled Gabe’s lap was, frankly, erotic in an unexpected way.

“Hot to what?” Tyson groaned as he traced the skin around Gabe’s shirt collar.  “Shut up and kiss me more.”

Gabe laughed and, thankfully, complied.  Their hands continued to wander until Tyson was tugging at the back of Gabe’s black shirt eager to see and touch his skin.  At last, to Tyson’s simultaneous delight and dismay, Gabe pushed him back enough to pull off his shirt.

Tyson had to take a moment while his brain reset itself after beholding the true glory that was a naked Gabriel Landeskog.

It was simultaneously exactly what Tyson was expecting and so much more: Gabe’s skin was golden and tan and glowing from the Denver summer sun, and his body was toned from years of practical use.  Without thinking about it, Tyson leaned in to suck and bite down Gabe’s chest.

“Ah, fuck,” Gabe gasped, twining fingers into Tyson’s hair.  He didn’t pull, but Tyson kind of wished he would. Just as Tyson set about paying Gabe in kind for the marks on his neck, Gabe urged him back up, fingers working on the buttons of Tyson’s shirt.  Gratifyingly, Gabe’s fingers were shaking and pulling at the buttons.

“Whoa, dude, careful with the shirt,” Tyson said, reaching down to help.  “I can’t afford to get new ones.”

“I’ll try to rein it in,” Gabe said.  His eyes flicked up to meet Tyson’s, and he smiled.  Tyson couldn’t help but smile back, breathless as he was.  Then Gabe unhooked the last button and pushed Tyson’s shirt off his shoulders.  “Oh fuck, Tyson,” he whispered reverently.

Tyson could feel his blush traveling down his neck and across his chest; his dick pressed against the fly of his jeans.

“Oh, Tyson,” Gabe said again.  He lifted his hands to trace his fingers across Tyson’s shoulders and biceps before trailing them down his obliques and resting them against the waistband of his jeans.  “Tyson, you’re so beautiful.”

Not knowing how to respond to such a sincere compliment, Tyson leaned in to kiss Gabe again.  The kiss was soft and slow, more similar to their first ice cream-flavored kisses than the hurried kisses against the apartment door.  Tyson moaned into it as Gabe’s hands resumed tracing his body, still staying above his waistband. His own hands moved across Gabe’s body, thumbing against a nipple before pressing into one of the marks he had left behind.  Gabe whined loudly at that and pulled away to pant harshly.

Intrigued, Tyson pressed harder against the mark and watched wide eyed as Gabe threw his head against the back of the couch, putting his neck on display.  Tyson took advantage of the opportunity and leaned forward to kiss and suck along the tendons of his neck, not quite hard enough to leave more marks. Gabe’s hands came down to grip at his hips again, urging Tyson into a slow, rolling rhythm.

Tyson could feel Gabe’s dick beneath him, just as hard, and wasn’t that a fuckin’ trip.  Trailing kisses across Gabe’s chiseled jaw, Tyson reached down to cup the bulge in Gabe’s jeans.  Gabe groaned and his hips shuddered upward into the pressure.

“Off to the races already,” Gabe mumbled before sitting up and gently manhandling Tyson until he was on his back on the couch, Gabe propped up above him.  He cut off Tyson’s response by leaning down to capture his lips in another searing kiss.

As their bodies pressed together, their hips continued the rhythm they had started earlier.  Tyson hitched one leg up to wrap around Gabe’s waist and whined as the friction on his dick increased.  Gabe brought one leg up for Tyson to rub against and oh god that was good.

The push and pull motion continued, and the room was filled with the hitching of their breath and the wet sounds of their mouths moving together.  Tyson’s hands roamed up and down Gabe’s back, ruffling through his hair before smoothing down the muscles of his back. He dipped his fingertips just beneath Gabe’s waistband.  Gabe’s entire body shuddered and he pressed even harder into the kiss, sucking on Tyson’s tongue.

Tyson had never felt so powerful, or so turned on.  Jesus.

Rubbing at the warm skin of the top of Gabe’s ass with one hand, Tyson dragged the other along the edge of the fabric until he was thumbing at the button of Gabe’s jeans.

He pulled away from the kiss just enough to ask, “This alright?” against Gabe’s lips.  Gabe bit down on his bottom lip and said, “Yeah.”

Tyson popped the button and dragged the zipper down.  With the sudden loosening of Gabe’s tight jeans, Tyson was able to slip his hand underneath the denim to grab at Gabe’s ass, and—

“Are you seriously not wearing underwear?”

“Must have slipped my mind,” Gabe said, grinding his leg down against Tyson’s dick.

“You’re going to actually kill me,” Tyson said roughly.  He squeezed at Gabe’s ass and they both groaned. A fuckin’ dream come true.

Gabe resumed kissing Tyson with renewed fervor, fucking his tongue into Tyson’s mouth and rolling their hips together.  Tyson’s hand, the one not getting acquainted with Gabe’s ass, was still trapped between their hips. The teeth of the jeans zipper bit into his skin as he worked his hand into the front of Gabe’s jeans, brushing past coarse hair.

“Oh fuck,” Tyson moaned, breaking the kiss to lean his forehead against Gabe’s.  Tyson watched as the blue of Gabe’s eyes became further eclipsed by pupil. “Even your dick is perfect.”

“I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth,” Gabe gasped as Tyson started to jerk him off without even taking him out of his pants, “but are you sure you want to jump in the saddle so soon?”

Tyson abruptly stopped what he was doing, hand stilling on Gabe’s dick as he squinted up at Gabe.

“What did you just say?”

“What?”

“Have you been making fucking horse puns?   _While I’m touching your dick?_ ”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Gabe’s serious face began to crack, and he bit his lip to stop from smiling.

Tyson groaned, not in the sexy-fun way but in the oh-my-god-Gabriel-Landeskog-is-the-worst-and-no-one-believes-me-when-I-try-to-tell-them-this sort of way.  He flung his free hand across his eyes to shield himself from the self-satisfied grin that was spreading across Gabe’s face.

“Please, Gabe, for the love of god, no Horse Talk in the bedroom.”

“We’re not in the bedroom, we’re in the living room.”

“Gabriel, you live in a glorified studio, I can touch your bed from this couch.  The entire goddamn apartment is the bedroom.” Tyson removed his arm from across his eyes and gestured around the apartment for emphasis.

“No need to beat a dead horse,” Gabe said, losing his composure completely and pressing his face into Tyson’s chest as he giggled.

“Oh my god,” Tyson said, “You’re such a fucking dork, Landesnerd.”

Gabe looked up, cheeks rosy red and dimple showing as he grinned at Tyson.  “You love it, though.”

Tyson sighed dramatically.  “Yeah, I guess.”

“You _guess_ ,” Gabe repeated, pressing his smiling lips to Tyson’s.  Tyson couldn’t help but smile in return, giggling as their teeth clicked together.

Involuntarily, Tyson’s hand tightened around Gabe’s dick.  Gabe groaned and dropped his forehead to press against Tyson’s neck, mouthing at his collarbone.  Tyson resumed jerking him off in earnest, despite the awkward angle of his wrist.

Gabe came with a groan of what could have been Swedish, or Tyson’s name, or a sexy-endearing combination of the two.  Tyson whined, rolling his hips up into Gabe’s thigh to chase his own orgasm. He pulled his hand, sticky with Gabe’s release, out of Gabe’s pants to grip his shoulder.  When Gabe brought one hand down to grind his palm against his dick, Tyson’s stamina finally gave up the ghost and he came in his pants for the first time since he was a teenager.

Okay, since he was twenty-one.  Freshman year was an Experience.

Sated and sticky, with Gabe stretched out on top of him, Tyson ignored the mess in his underwear and allowed himself to doze.  He startled awake when Gabe’s voice rumbled against his chest.

“How are you feeling?”

 _Like I just had the best orgasm of my life_ , Tyson did not say. _Like all of my dreams came true in one amazing explosion of awesome and I don’t want this night to end_ , Tyson also did not say. “Mmm, good. Great,” he finally settled on. He stretched against the material of the couch and craned his neck to look at Gabe, still sprawled on top of him.

“No, I mean like…” Gabe blew out a slightly frustrated breath. “Like, can you breathe alright? You’re not having any allergic reactions?”

Tyson was about to mock Gabe for being a nerd, but paused to take inventory of his respiratory situation. His throat was fine: no itchiness or scratchiness, and no feeling of being choked slowly. He took a deep breath, held it, and breathed out. No problems there, other than the large Swede using his chest as a pillow. He didn’t want to rub his eyeballs out of their sockets, so everything checked out.

“All clear, Doctor Landeskog,” Tyson reported. “Fit as a fucking fiddle, emphasis on the—”

“Oh my god,” Gabe muttered. He no longer looked frustrated, only slightly embarrassed as he reached out to trace patterns against Tyson’s skin. “I’m glad. I, uh, I hired a cleaning service to deep clean the apartment a few days ago.”

Tyson stared at Gabe uncomprehendingly before it clicked. This asshole, this beautiful, sweet, unbelievable asshole in front of him had gone to great lengths to make sure Tyson wouldn’t be killed by any horse hair in the apartment.

“You fucker,” Tyson said fondly as he leaned up to kiss him. “You planned this. _Well_ in advance.”

“I hoped,” Gabe corrected, smiling a little as he kissed back.

Their saccharine kisses turned slower and slower until Tyson had to break away to yawn.

“It’s getting pretty late,” Tyson said, peering around Gabe’s living room in an attempt to find a clock.

Gabe sat up and pulled his phone out of the back pockets of his sagging jeans.  He winced when he saw the time and said, “Yeah, it is. Do you want to just stay over?”

“Oh.”  Tyson didn’t realize that was on the table.  He shot a look at Gabe’s messy bed before looking back at Gabe, who was staring down at him in amusement.  “Sure. Thanks.”

They peeled themselves off the couch and Gabe ushered Tyson into the bathroom with a spare toothbrush and an extra pair of pajama pants.  Tyson skimmed off his pants and underwear and changed into the borrowed bottoms, and finished up in the bathroom. When he exited, he found that Gabe too had switched his jeans for a pair of pajama pants.  After exchanging a few shy glances and awkward laughs, they climbed into the bed. They lay side by side, Tyson shifting restlessly before Gabe sighed and manhandled him onto his side, slinging an arm around his waist.  Tyson calmed down, his limbs relaxing.

A thought suddenly occurred to him.

“So this is gonna be a thing, right? A dating thing? The whole DQ experience points to yes but given our history with communication I feel like we should clarify this.”

“Yeah, bud,” Gabe yawned, spooning up closer behind him, “it’s a _dating thing_.”

“Oh.  Good.”

After several moments of silence, just as Tyson could feel sleep creeping in, Gabe asked, “You sure you won’t hoof it while I’m asleep?”

“That’s it, I’ve changed my mind, I’m leaving,” Tyson grumbled, making absolutely no move to escape Gabe’s warm embrace.  He could feel Gabe’s smile tucked into the nape of his neck. With a contented sigh, he snuggled further into Gabe’s arms, breathing in the comforting scent around him.  He slowly began to drift off.

The next morning, he would scramble through ironing out the wrinkles in his shirt and jeans and borrowing a pair of briefs.  He would stare in vaguely aroused horror at his own reflection in Gabe’s bathroom, tracing the path of hickeys and beard burn up his neck and across his chest.  He would yell at Gabe for leaving a hickey so high up on his neck even his shirt collar wouldn’t hide it, and then he would push Gabe up against the bathroom counter to leave his own conspicuous mark on him, Gabe laughing the whole time.  He would lose track of time and then rush out the door, frantically googling the fastest way from Gabe’s apartment to the Sports Commission office. He would politely ignore the judgmental stares from his coworkers as they observed his day-old clothes and fresh bitemarks.  He would endure relentless mocking from Nate for the same things and then hug him in response to his sincere congratulations. And then the next day, he would serve messy food to customers as he watched his boyfriend ride around on an animal he was severely allergic to. He would swear he had never experienced happiness like that before in his life.

But in that moment, all Tyson could focus on was the feelings of Gabe’s arms around him, and that was all he wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> If you walked away from this story thinking, "There was a lot of potential for a good poly romance and the author squandered it!" you are not the only one.
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://dalmatienne.tumblr.com), but all I post are Lord of the Rings and Free Real Estate memes, so I cannot in all honesty recommend it as a Blog To follow.


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